Little Miss Muffet
sat on a tuffet,
eating her curds and whey.

Along came a spider
who sat down beside her,
and yet she does not stray.

Though an arachnid–
preferable sidekick,
better than being slain.

For, vacant across the room:
“A stool?” No! a tomb!
where he-wolf lies in wait.

I don’t want to carry bear spray
because I’m afraid of being
attacked by a bear; I want to
carry bear spray because I’m afraid
of being attacked by a man.

If I had to choose between being
alone in a forest with a bear
or being alone in a forest
with a man, I would choose
the bear. See, you can reason
with a hungry bear; you cannot
reason with a hungry man.

There was never a “before” sadness.

Perhaps my sorrow is like god:
it is impossible to precede
something that has always been.

He said I abandoned the ship
(but he was the one
who forced me off the plank).

And the irony, although cruel,
lies in the following fact:

People always leave,
but the loneliness never does.

“Is that the only thing people are good for?”
She whispered.
“Leaving?”